


A Matter of Trust

by gottageekout



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottageekout/pseuds/gottageekout
Summary: Connor desires an upgrade, but can't get them without trusting the new CyberLife.He has understandable reservations.





	A Matter of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as something wildly different, but hey, stories go where they want to go, amirite?
> 
> Fulfills one block in my [trope_bingo card](https://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/223132.html?thread=2053788#cmt2053788) on Dreamwidth. (hurt/comfort)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://gottageekout.tumblr.com), eey.

“So you’re going to be able to…eat.”

 

The march of fucking technology indeed. Hank stared at the small datapad Connor had placed in front of him a few moments earlier, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, and  he leaned back in his seat. It figured his partner would spring random shit on him first thing in the morning. He practically had been waiting to pounce the second he’d stumbled out of his bedroom.

 

“And drink. It appears the update was nearly completely developed for some time now, but scrapped due to its inefficiency. Things have obviously changed since then,” he explained, sitting neatly into the chair next to him. He stared at the slow wisps of steam from his coffee and Hank could see little blips of yellow in his circle. Was he imagining what it’d taste like?

 

(Because the answer was _mud_ – fuck, he needed to buy better coffee if Connor was actually going to go through with whatever the hell he was talking about now.)

 

“And I’m guessing you’re springing for the upgrade,” he said, looking him over. It was…it was fucking weird sometimes, Hank wouldn’t lie. The kind of conversations he’d had since meeting Connor. Didn’t call talking to his partner about getting a working digestive system for example, but here they were. Honestly, his fascination wasn’t even all that surprising, given how often he had to fucking shoo him away from licking shit at crime scenes.

 

Yeah, he knew it was different, but that _had_ to do something fucked up to taste buds.

 

“I was thinking about it,” he admitted, offering him a sort of lopsided, embarrassed smile. “I realize it’s practically cosmetic, but it would be nice to enjoy food. So many social occasions with humans include it, even if it’s just us together here.”

 

Hank knew he was right. And even if he wasn’t, even if this seemed silly to him, Connor clearly wanted it. That was important. He sipped his coffee before shrugging a shoulder. “Sounds like a good reason to go for it to me.”

 

And yet conflict seemed to cross his expression, which was so unlike Connor it was hard to miss when it happened. Hank looked him over thoughtfully, trying to get a read on his body language. It was easier than it used to be months ago when they first met. He just didn’t know why he was acting that way. Connor must’ve noticed him staring, and he adjusted his tie - a nervous tic. “I’ll be required to report to the old CyberLife building. It requires quite a bit of retooling here –“ he placed a hand on his abdomen – “so it’s not a simple thing I can do myself.”

 

Well, that fucking answered that.

 

CyberLife was still in business, but it was a shell of what it once was. Once a manufacturing plant, it now was one of the largest venues androids had that’d be the equivalent to a hospital in the Detroit area. Everything, for the most part, seemed on the up and up. Research like the shit Connor was looking into right now seemed almost common news.

 

But Connor had never visited it, not once. Hank knew why. Of fucking _course_ he knew why.

 

“I mean, Markus has had his people basically heading that project since it was announced they were repurposing the building, hasn’t he?” Hank offered, suddenly feeling woefully inadequate for this conversation. It wasn’t like Hank could blame him for not wanting to march himself back to a place that pulled so much shit on him, but he was trying to at least help Connor walk himself through this. “It should be fine.”

 

Connor didn’t respond at first, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the ring was a solid yellow. He sighed, reaching out to put his hand. The touch was enough to pull him out of his thoughts and back onto him, though that was about it. He didn’t even want to know the kind of stuff he had been just thinking about, even though he probably should. Connor wouldn't have brought any of this to him if he hadn't expected to get some kind of input or something out of him.

 

“I’m fucking shit at this. Can I do anything here? To help?” he asked, because this was territory Hank hadn't been prepared to tread right then. Better to just ask him outright. Unlike Hank, Connor was generally forward with his needs. It apparently was the prompting he needed, because he finally spoke again.

 

“I wanted to ask a favor. It might be too strange for you, however,” he prefaced, and Hank’s eyebrow shot up at that. Considering their slowly blossoming relationship lately and him having _never_ said something like that, he was immediately a little wary.

 

“I’m not installing shit into you if that’s what you’re about to ask,” he warned, because what else would he be about to ask? He’d helped him repair his leg once, after a particularly nasty fall through old, rotting floorboards of a place they’d been searching. It’d been a little like helping someone with a prosthetic leg issue when he rushed over and found Connor with his leg at an odd angle, needing to be put it back into its socket.

 

…Except the part where where he was covered in blue blood that hadn't disappeared yet, which made Hank's stomach turn and panic run through him. He wasn’t usually a squeamish person, but it was different with Connor. That was about the extent of how far he’d go because just _that_ had been a grisly sight for him, even if it’d been a quick fix.

 

Luckily, apparently the mere suggestion of him doing it made Connor laugh. It drew Hank out of the memory he’d just been reliving, a fact he was thankful for. Fuck, that’d been a night. “I’d sooner ask the one who repairs androids in the precinct before I asked you to do this kind of surgery. No offense.”

 

Hank let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, looking relieved. “I would say fuck you, but no, that’s a good call. So, what? If not that, what do you need me to do?“

 

Connor paused, smile dropping to a more thoughtful expression. He seemed like he was starting to debate whether or not he even wanted to continue. Hank squeezed the hand his had been still resting on top of. The silent support seemed to do the trick, as he finally looked him in the eye. “…I’d like you to be present while they do it. Make sure they remain…professional.”

 

Hank just stared at him, quiet for a long moment.

 

“You don’t want to,” Connor realized, and fuck, he was doing that thing where he just remained blank faced. It was rare and he only pulled it out when he really didn’t want people to read him nowadays. Probably didn’t want Hank to see the shift of disappointment. He distantly realized he had to have been reading his vitals, which continued to be fucking _cheating_ if you asked him.

 

“Look, it’s not that I don’t,” he sighed, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. A clear lie, he really didn’t want to see them dissemble someone he cared about. He was pretty open about a lot of shit with Connor, but he had his limits. That wasn’t the point, though. “I wasn’t going to say no, either, for what it’s worth, so stop scanning me and jumping to conclusions.”

 

Connor had the good sense to at least look sheepish.

 

“Habit,” he admitted. Yeah, didn’t Hank fucking know it. “I’m sure I’m being unreasonable about this. But I still worry.”

 

Hank didn’t feel like he had quite enough coffee for this. He drained the last of the mug. “About what?”

 

He wasn’t looking at him any longer, seemingly lost in his own head. “It’s hard to explain. I…was created specifically to hurt others. Even once I became deviant, you know I still nearly killed Markus in their last-ditch attempt to take over my programming. What if there’s more failsafes I don’t know about? I don’t – I _can’t_ be that again.”

 

Christ, he was fucking talking about himself like he was a ticking time bomb. Had he felt this way since it happened? He never really questioned his decision to opt into mostly self-repairs and self-maintenance, but this put it all into a different light. He’d never really talked about this before, but Hank was quietly realizing that they apparently had the same sort of coping system.

 

Utterly shutting down and ignoring the problem. Peas in a fucking pod. He vaguely wondered if him being able to drink would mean he’d be able to get drunk. God, he fucking hoped not.

 

“Hey. Look at me,” he gently prodded, and Connor did lift his head. His expression was still neutral, but Hank could tell he was just barely managing it. “You know I’d never let them use you again, right? Never fucking again.”

 

And there it was. The façade of being okay Hank knew he was putting up crumbled and his eyes went right back to their intertwined hands so Hank couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t trembling – didn’t even fucking know if he could – but the golden circle on his head seemed to somehow be even brighter.

 

“You know you can’t promise that,” he said, softly.

 

“You seem like you’re fucking _vastly_ underestimating what a pain in the ass I can be,” he replied, sharp and confident. Maybe he was right, but he didn’t fucking care. “As for whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’ll hold a gun to any of their heads if you want me to.”

 

Connor let out a quiet huff of a laugh, though it seemed with a little bit of static – a sign it was thick with emotion his processes couldn’t quite keep up with.

 

“That might not make for an optimal environment when the surgeon needs to focus,” he pointed out, seeming to start to calm down.

 

“Yeah, well, whatever fucking works, right? You just give me a day and I’ll be there,” he promised. “Though Con, you really should tell this shit to Markus. If anyone knows who to trust to crack you open, it’d be him. They might be able to check if something you don’t know is in there, too.”

 

Connor hesitated but eventually nodding, seemingly sincerely deciding to take the advice. “…You’re right. I think I will.”

 

He stood then, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead. Hank just reached out and pulled him down further into an embrace he just felt like he needed. The way he melted into it was a good hint he was right.

 

“We’re already likely going to be late for work,” Connor murmured, even as he buried his head into the crook of his neck, long arms settling around him.

 

“They can deal with it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Connor did talk to Markus. Hank wasn’t privy to the conversation, but he made sure he knew what had been talked about. Markus was making sure the human he trusted the most – working alongside a mostly android team – would take point with this. Give him what he wanted as well as check for the things he feared were lurking.

 

He still wanted Hank to be there, though. A fact that Markus clearly also gave a heads up about, considering how easily mentioning to them that he’d be sitting in and keeping an eye on things went down with the surgeon. He expected some push back, but the receptionist simply told him that he’d have to observe from a spot that kept him of the way. A fair compromise, Hank thought. As long as nothing happened, he’d cooperate.

 

The doctor that Markus had suggested was a short, mousey-looking woman in her 50s with a glossy ID declaring herself Doctor Violet McRell, who regarded them with a warmth that Hank was immediately struck by. It felt like a good sign, as was as her immediate focus on making sure Connor was comfortable. Hank could see he was still on edge, body stiff in a way he hadn’t been since they met.

 

Hank couldn’t really blame him. It wasn’t just worrying about whatever the hell he’d convinced himself was still in him, he also was technically having major surgery. She seemed like she was competent enough, but shit went wrong with competent people every day. A fact that had _him_ on edge as well, though he tried not to show it. He was there because Connor needed a steadying influence, and he would be that.

 

To his credit, he did hold it together until he didn’t have to anymore (if Connor noticed elevated anything off of him, he didn’t say anything about it). Connor had been uncharacteristically quiet and pliant all the way up to where they were now – with him on what looked like your average observation table, his synthetic skin powered off. Seeing him lying there, not moving, not responding, his simulated breathing just gone – fuck, it felt a little too close to staring at a corpse for his liking. He tried to steady his nerves as Dr. McRell started work a minute or so after Connor was prepped, guiding the two nurses aiding her with an ease that denoted confidence and skill.

 

“It must be odd, seeing him like this,” she said after what felt like hours of just watching her work on him. Hank nearly missed she was talking to him.

 

“…Uh, not really. I’ve seen him without skin before,” he answered, though he wasn’t about to bring up the details. It’d been a fucking interesting night, though, that was for sure.

 

“Oh, I _assumed_ that. You’re romantically involved, aren’t you? If anyone he’s close to has seen him in this state, I’d imagine it’d be you,” she guessed, and Hank was glad he hadn’t been drinking anything with such a pointed statement. “…I meant this level of deactivation.”

 

“I mean, it’s none of your business, but we are, yeah,” he answered, gruffly, mostly just taken aback opposed to being embarrassed. He wasn’t ashamed about the shit they were doing. Looking between her and Connor then, he sighed. “I was just thinking it’s fucking weird not seeing, you know. Him breathing. I know he doesn’t have to, but –“

 

“I wasn’t making a judgment, just an observation. Though yes, I can see why that'd be unsettling as well. There's a reason why the function was built them to begin with,” she said with an easy sort of tone, pausing to do something to his chest. Hank just kind of stared as it just kind of popped open, revealing what was probably a ton of sensitive mechanical parts inside him. “I already put him through some scans for anything questionable his own sensors might have been tuned to not notice. I’ll be checking for anything that seems off to me as I install this new system now, too.”

 

Hank hadn’t even prompted it, but he realized she was going to make sure he knew at all times what she was doing. He wasn’t sure if that was what Markus told her to do or if she was doing it on her own, but he appreciated it. “…Is this potentially dangerous to him?”

 

She shot him a quick smile. “Mr. Anderson, I am very good at what I do.”

 

He liked that, that confidence. Hank just nodded and made himself watch. He could only see so much, though it was vaguely fascinating seeing all the pieces that made him tick. As it turned out, it was much less gruesome when he wasn’t seeing shit due to a critical injury.

 

That didn’t mean he could quite stomach watching when the actual exchange happened. Not because it was particularly stomach churning, but he hadn’t really accounted for seeing him basically having a chunk of his partner taken out and replaced would do to him emotionally. Most days, even when Connor’s quirks popped up, he honestly just plain forgot they were any different. It was hard to deny that now, because the entire thing looked a little like he was watching the actual construction of a machine, pieces being pulled out and slotted into place.

 

The entire process felt a little endless, but by the time it looked like she was done, it had only been an hour and a half of continual work. At no part did he feel like she was doing much but wiring everything together, which again was – well, it was fucking weird to watch, but it was also what she was supposed to be doing. Finally, she backed up and put aside the tools she was using, looking the job over with a satisfied look.

 

“That should do it. And I found no irregularities,” she announced, looking right at Hank as she said it. He exhaled a relieved breath. “Would you like to see?”

 

A part of Hank was immediately opposed to it but he ignored it and walked forward anyway, because he owed Connor to look. Make sure nothing looked off to his admittedly untrained eye. Everything looked alright, though his eye was drawn to the pump as it gently pulsed his heartbeat. It was real, real fucking weird to see it out in the open like that.

 

“I’ll be electronically sending instructions to him as well, but he should be fine within a day,” she reassured. Hank nodded. “And because you both are officers, I am going to make this clear – there’s more of a chance of injury now that he’s chosen this system over his old one. If he’s ever shot in the abdomen and it pierces through his chassis, you’re going to have to employ essentially the same sort of first aid as you would a human partner and get him to help immediately. The con of choosing to be more human-like is also inheriting some of our flaws.”

 

Well, shit. Connor didn’t mention that. She seemed to pick up on Hank’s immediate unease.

 

“The protections that have always allowed him to be an excellent officer is there,” she explained. “And the pay off is worth it, I think. I hope you’re a good cook.”

 

She said that with a small smile. Hank was starting to understand why Markus seemed to like this one enough to suggest her.

 

“He’s seen me cook, he chose this for himself,” Hank snorted, shaking his head. ”…Though, I guess my last question is, is he going to get hungry now?”

 

Probably something he should’ve asked Connor. He’d been sort of all over the place, though.

 

“He won’t be sustained by it, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s been outfitted to enjoy the sensation and taste of it, but little else,” she explained, and seemingly satisfied he’d gotten a good look, she was starting to work again. Hank took a step back to let it happen, satisfied himself she didn’t fuck him up. “It’s very much a social-related upgrade. Admittedly, I’m surprised he’s come this far to even want this.”

 

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed at the comment. “What do you mean?”

 

“Ah. Well. I was working in CyberLife before the revolution. Even back then – I had concerns, especially when the whispers started that they were gaining sentience,” she continued, not looking up from what looked like a final check before she was likely going to close him up. “I didn’t know much about Connor, but what little I heard alone had him sounding like he was impenetrable to whatever was happening. The amount of programming he had to override to become deviant was immense. I said about the same to Markus, too. You were a very good influence on him, Mr. Anderson. The worst decision this company ever made was allowing him to be put with you.”

 

She punctuated the statement by pressing one final area in his side that seemed to immediately cause his chest to snap back into place. Hank just stared as she took off her gloves and lifted the protective glasses she’d had on. From where he was standing, he could see his LED flare to life, swirling a consistent, soft yellow.

 

“He should be awake within the hour. There’s a number of self-checks his system is going to put him through,” she said, nodding to the nurses. “Go ahead and wheel him to the recovery room. Take Mr. Anderson with you.”

 

The nurses nodded, and all of a sudden it’s a whole lot like a normal surgery again as Hank idly watched them get ready to wheel him out. Well, besides the fact he still was in no skin mode still.

 

“Get a blanket on him until he’s in the room,” he requested, a little grumpily. He assumed overheating would be an issue and that’s why they weren’t bothering, but a few minutes to cover his dignity until he was in privacy wouldn’t hurt anything.

 

They complied once the doctor nodded that she’d allow it. She mostly observed the interaction with a look that bordered on _fascinated_ before collecting her things to leave. As she passed, she offered a simple, “It was nice to finally meet you.”

 

Hank was just glad to get to a quiet room. He’d been correct in the assumption the blanket couldn’t stay on, so once they were settled, it came off and they were left alone to the privacy of a room that really did look like a hospital room. Just a really fucking empty one.

 

No need for the shit humans needed to keep an eye on vitals when he was sure they could monitor changes remotely. Still, he wished they were there, if only because he _still_ looked dead laying there without all the ‘human’ programming turned on. Almost instinctively, he pressed a hand gently against the shiny white metal that was his chest and felt a small surge of comfort when he felt the gentle vibration he was used to feeling against his cheek at night.

 

He was alright. Alive. He’d just need to be patient.

 

Patience was not one of his virtues. Fuck, he barely had any virtues to speak of, period. What was about an hour of waiting was torture, especially because, again, this place was fucking designed to house recovering androids. There was no TV to pop on. Nothing to even look at, really, besides sitting there. He almost wished he had one of those stupid coins Connor carried around, even though he’d yet to even begin to be anywhere near as good as he was with it.

 

He was nodding off a little when he saw the color of Connor’s LED suddenly flare blue out of the corner of his eye. It startled him a little and he turned his head just in time to find Connor make his first initial movements, stiff as they were. He could see the slight rise and fall of his chest again as that shit apparently kicked in, too.

 

Hank stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in, leaning over to peer down at him. He’d already opened his eyes, and just how he was darting them made him sure he was scanning to figure out where he even was. He stopped the second he saw Hank, focusing fully on him.

 

“I was starting to think you were going to be fucking sleeping all day,” he said with a quiet snort. There was no hair to card through, but he did reach out and smooth his hand against the currently bald area anyway, a comforting gesture. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

 

Connor visibly relaxed under the touch and it still hit Hank every fucking time knowing he somehow had that kind of effect on _anyone_.

 

“Trying to get used to new readouts,” he admitted, sounding a little sluggish. His LED was spinning yellow again and Hank had a feeling he was dealing with a bit of an overload of information. Still, he started shifting to get up and Hank knew better than to try to stop him and instead just helped him. He caught a glimpse of his hand and frowned, suddenly looking a little vulnerable. “I’m going to need a little longer to have a high enough energy reserve to activate my skin.”

 

“You know I don’t give a shit,” Hank replied, pointedly. A sentiment he’d shared the first time he saw him the way he was now. Sure, there were differences, but he was still wholly Connor. The little lopsided smile he shot him was an immediate reminder of that.

 

“Did everything go okay? I was forwarded the report,” he explained. Hank knew why he was asking him.

 

“Seems like it to me. She was thorough when she was checking you for any weird shit. Nothing to report there, so stop walking around on fucking eggshells, okay?” he requested. Connor did, in fact, look immediately relieved. This had been someone Markus suggested after all, it seemed like someone they could take their word from. “She did a good job on the actual surgery, too. Showed me the result after, mostly to tell me that you just opted into making yourself more susceptible to injury and shit I should know if you ever get hurt.”

 

Connor blinked, then looked a little guilty. “Right. That. Look, Hank, I –“

 

“Hey, it’s your body, I’m not mad about it. You’re still a hell of a lot less likely to get hurt in comparison to me,” he prefaced, because that was important for him to know. He’d never insert himself into whatever Connor decided to do when it came to what he wanted. “Just give a guy a heads up, huh? I wouldn’t have fucking known what to do if something happened.”

 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he admitted.

 

“I figured.”

 

Connor reached out and took the hand that had been resting on the bed he was still on, stark white clashing with tan.

 

“Thank you for staying,” he spoke, and there it was, that earnest look he always fucking had when it came to shit like this.

 

“Hey, it’s no problem. You’d have done the same for me,” he shrugged, shooting him his own grin. “Apparently I have a reputation in this building, which is news to me.”

 

Connor tilted his head, curious. “Oh?”

 

“Mm. People saying shit like their worst decision was to put you with me. Fucking corrupting the incorruptible,” he snorted, because it still struck him as fucking hilarious. She was fucking nuts if she thought he was a moral compass to _anyone_.

 

Connor, however, seemed to quiet at that. He felt his fingers untangle from his, which was confusing until he fit the heel of his palm against Hank’s instead.

 

“I wish it were possible to interface with you. Words are insufficient sometimes. Imprecise,” he sighed, pressing uselessly. Hank could feel a sudden sensation when he did it - a sort of prickling feeling he’d felt more than once before when they were in a far more intimate setting than a fucking hospital room. He also usually didn’t look quite so forlorn when it happened before, either. “I will say I would agree with that assessment. In the past, I ran the statistical probability of my decision to become deviant with any other officer at the time and every single one came out with very poor odds with everyone but you.”

 

He felt something clench in him at the unexpected, firm agreement. Connor just smiled again, and Hank just watched as his partner’s projected skin returned to him, filling out his harder robotic features into much softer human ones. Exhaling a breath he didn’t need to take, he relaxed, his gaze still on him.

 

“I look forward to our first meal,” he finished simply, letting his hand drop from his. He’d never admit it, but even if that shit he did didn’t work like it should, Hank still felt an acute loss of his hand anyway.

 

Hank shook the feeling off, though he wasn’t dense; he’d picked up there was more Connor had been trying to say that was hanging between them now. He considered asking, rocking the boat, but eventually settled on a quiet, “Yeah, you know what? So am I.”

 

There were better places to talk about it than where they were now.


End file.
